Since
their autumn offensive began, the U-boats had singled out our Gibraltar
convoy routes for a special kind of blitz. For the first time since the
war opened, Doenitz had received sufficient co from the Luftwaffe to
enable Focke Wulf bombers to be sent over the Atlantic in search of
convoys, their limited range making the Gibraltar routes the most suitable
targets. Their mission was to seek out a convoy and then send out a series
of wireless reports giving its position, speed and course on which any
U-boats in the vicinity could converge and attack as a “pack”. There was
little we could do about these “homing” tactics outside the range of
shore-based Coastal Command planes unless each convoy was provided with
its own aircraft-carrier. In July, 1941, Korvettenkapitan Arend Baumann,
aged thirty-seven and an old hand in the Battle of the Atlantic, took
command of the new 740-ton, ocean-going U-131. She carried fourteen
torpedoes, a crew of forty-eight and could stay at sea for about six
weeks. Now the two countries were at war, he was certain of Germany’s
victory and determined to ensure it by making U-131 the most efficient
submarine in the Atlantic. Whilst they were exercising in the Baltic, the
R.A.F. raided Kielthe night his wife started labour pains heralding the
arrival of their second child. She could not find a taxi to take her to
hospital, but a fire-engine racing to the bombed docks picked her up and
rushed her there in time. U-131's short career was made even more eventful
in the Baltic when a Russian sub marine just missed her with a torpedo and
the excitement had barely died down when a brother U-boat, also on
exercises, fired a torpedo which passed under U-131 and exploded a hundred
yards away. U-131 sailed at noon on November 17th and a week later was
cruising off Spain. By December 12th she had sunk one merchant
ship—expending six of her torpedoes, and had chased a large liner without
success. There was high hope that they would be ordered into Lorient in
time to be home for Christmas. Doenitz had other ideas, and sent U-131 to
patrol off Gibraltar. It was a deeply depressed U-boat which sighted a
convoy late in the afternoon of the 16th and sent out a general alarm to
all submarines in the vicinity.Baumann knew that at least two other U-boats
were around somewhere and decided to shadow the convoy by diving from his
position ahead, allowing the convoy to pass over him before surfacing
astern to make his hourly homing reports for the gathering “pack”. In the
middle of the manoeuvre his hydro phones broke down and, when he came up
to see where he was, the periscope poked up right in the centre of the
convoy. Recovering from his surprise, he selected a target and prepared to
fire, but for some reason the merchant ship chose that moment to indulge
in some accidental, but really impressive, zig-zagging to adjust her
position in the column. Baumann was forced to call off the attack;
instead, he decided to dive deep and get away before being rammed. That
night he surfaced astern, and his call went out for help. Among those who
were close enough to answer the summons were U-434 commanded by
Kapitanleutnant Wolfgang Heyda, and U-574 under Oberleutnant zur see
Gegnalbach. Both these boats, like U-131, were on their first cruise
having left Kiel about the same time in October. They had joined a “pack”
attacking a convoy in the North Atlantic near Halifax, but after being
beaten off bad headed southwards on a vain search for prey off Spain. They
received U-131's wireless reports on the 16th and steamed at full speed to
contact the convoy.

At headquarters in Lorient, Doenitz and his
staff moved three tiny flags on their operations map, plotted the probable
position, course and speed of the convoy and sent signals to four more
U-boats well to the north to make all possible speed to intercept. All day
during the 16th a Focke-Wulf had been re-enforcing U-131’s reports with
its own, and Doenitz had every reason to believe it possible to deliver a
mutilating blow. The “pack” was gathering for the kill. Convoy H.G. 76 was
fully aware it had been sighted. At dusk on the 16th, Stanley reported
sighting two aircraft at visibility distance. No one else was able to spot
them, and Walker wrote in his War Diary: “This report was pooh poohed by
Audacity, but Stanley stuck stoutly to his convictions. I have assumed the
enemy has now passed our full particulars to every U-boat not wearing a
deaf-aid.” This was confirmed at midnight by the Admiralty.

Audacity

When shadowing a convoy, U-boats usually
stayed on the surface at visibility distance from the convoy, submerging
only when there was a danger of being seen either by aircraft or an
inquisitive escort. As they were low in the water, they could keep watch
on the convoy’s mastheads while relying on their own tiny silhouette to
keep them well hidden from the escort look-outs. To counter this, Walker
closed Audacity and requested that an aircraft be flown off at dawn to
search for about twenty miles around the convoy. He vaguely hoped that in
the grey, half-light of a winter morning a surfaced U-boat might be caught
unawares before it could submerge. He was lucky. Shortly after 9 a.m.,
when her fuel was running low, Audacity’s aircraft reported: “U-BOAT ON
SURFACE TWENTY-TWO MILES ON CONVOY’S PORT BEAM.” Ordering the destroyers Exmoor, Blankney
and Stanley, and the corvette Penstemon, which was nearest to the
aircraft’s position, to join him, Walker turned Stork and set off at full
speed. As the five ships raced away, the remainder of the escort closed
the gaps by drawing nearer to the convoy. A lamp blinked “Good Hunting”
from the Commodore’s ship leading the centre column of the convoy, and,
after a cheerful “Thank you”. Walker concentrated on meeting the enemy for
the first time.Blankney reached the position first and found a number of asdic echoes.
two of which she classified as coming from a submarine, and proceeded to
attack with depth charges. When the rest arrived, Walker was unable to
find anything remotely resembling a U-boat echo and, calming the exuberant
Blankney, he formed the ships into line abreast for a sweep westwards,
assuming that the submarine would continue on the convoy’s course. The
slower Penstemon, plugging along in the rear, then picked up an echo. She
reported the contact and Walker sent Stanley to assist her. He gave both
ships instructions to rejoin him as soon as they lost contact—an order
that was to prolong the battle for several hours. Penslemon attacked with
a pattern of ten depth charges and, after the boiling sea had simmered
down, neither she nor Stanley were able to regain contact. In accordance
with Walker’s orders they left the area to rejoin with Stork.

By the time they caught up with the search
party, Walker had asked Audacity to assist by flying off an aircraft to
replace the one that had landed after making the original sighting report.
The hunt was developing into a full-scale offensive lunge, rarely employed
by escort groups in these days. It was more usual to stay close to the
convoy and wait for the U-boats to attack in the hope of keeping them at
bay rather than set off in full chase, thereby leaving dangerous gaps in
the screen. In fact, it was almost unheard of for an escort commander to
take five of his ships on a hunt more than twenty miles from the convoy.
Walker was by no means ignorant of his personal risk if a concerted attack
were made on the convoy while lie was away. To justify this hunt, he would
have to make a kill. The searching ships in line abreast and one mile
apart were now well out on the port bow of the convoy with no sign of a
contact. Walker decided to turn back and sweep eastwards across the front
of the convoy. He had just sent the order when the ships on the extreme
port side of the line signalled: “Object on horizon to starboard.” Having spent the night jogging along behind
the convoy, Baumann decided to take his boat up ahead for the next day. By
his reckoning, there should be enough of his fellow- submariners in the
vicinity for the attack to start after dusk. Keeping the convoy at
visibility distance, he increased to full speed and had reached the port
beam when, in the dawning overcast sky, he heard the sound of aircraft. As
U-131's alarm blared, a plane appeared from the cloud and swept low over
her. Baumann and the conning tower crew leapt for the hatchway and tumbled
down into the control room. A few seconds later they were diving rapidly.
Despite faulty hydrophones, he altered course towards the convoy in the
hope of avoiding any surface attack that might follow his discovery by the
aircraft. Half an hour later, unable to hear the approach of Penstemon and
Stanley, he was thrown to the deck by the blast of exploding depth
charges. When the tumult had subsided, the crew of U-131 stunned by the
closeness of the attack, investigated the damage. In a few minutes, with
lights gone, batteries spreading deadly chloride gas, and an ominous leak
near the stern, Baumann knew he would have to surface. To do so there
would mean disaster. He needed to put at least fifteen miles between
himself and his attackers before he could surface and escape at high
speed. He took the U-boat down to six hundred feet, ordered full submerged
speed of five knots and sat down to wonder which would be the first to
force them up—the gas, the running-down batteries or the leak astern.He was, perhaps, fortunate to be granted
two hours before he had to surface. When the hatch was opened and he
rushed out to the conning tower, there was nothing immediately in sight. A
few minutes later a look-out shouted: “Ships astern, Kapitan.” Baumann
turned and saw five ships heading to wards him no more than seven miles
away. He called clown to the engineer. “I want every bit of speed you can
get. We are being chased by warships.” A few minutes after Stanley’s
report, the “object” was identified as a U-boat and Walker flashed along
the line “Open fire independently when in range.” Directors swung the gun
turrets round on to the target, range-takers called out ranges and the
leading ships, Stork, Exmoor and Blankney, prepared for the first barrage.
‘Walker ordered the Martlet fighter from Audacity to attack in the hope
that her machine guns might help to slow down the fast-moving enemy.

"Martlet"
http://www.uboat.net/allies/aircraft/wildcat.htm

It was the chance young Sub-Lieutenant
George Fletcher, R.N.V.R., had been hoping would come his way ever since
he had qualified as a Fleet Air Arm pilot and been sent to a convoy
training base for duties in the Atlantic. He banked his plane, screamed
over the convoy and spotted the U-boat, tiny target on the heaving sea,
right ahead. He put the Martlet into a dive. The conning tower came into
his sights and he could dimly see figures clustered round a gun. Then the
tracers floated up at him and it was time to press a thumb down hard on
the firing button. The fighter jerked as its guns flamed. Suddenly, the
perspex windscreen shattered and smoke filled the cockpit. Below, the
watchers in the five racing ships, with the corvette, Penstemon, plodding
gamely in the rear, saw the fighter begin its dive, heard the urgent
clatter of gunfire and were shocked to see smoke gushing from the cockpit.
Silently, and dazed by the speed of events, they followed the plane down
until it crashed in a cloud of spray almost alongside the U-boat. With the
range only slightly less than seven miles, Stork, Blankney and Exmoor
commenced firing. Soon, Stanley’ joined in the barrage, Penstemon still
being too far astern for her single gun mounting forward to have any
effect. The barrage lasted for nearly twenty minutes, with shells
plastering the area around U-131 until Stork’s masthead look-out reported:
“Enemy abandoning ship, Sir. Looks as though she’s been hit badly.”

The “cease fire” was hoisted and, as the
smoke cleared and the range closed rapidly, they could see figures leaping
from the conning tower into the sea. Before they could reach the scene,
however, U-131 pointed her nose to the sky and slid stern first below the
waves. Damaged first by depth charges and then holed eight times by the
striking force guns, she was of no further use to Doenitz. Exmoor and
Blankney picked up her crew, all screaming and wailing in the water and
looking not in the least like supermen. Walker was pleased, even though he
looked grim when his whaler recovered Fletcher’s bullet-ridden body kept
afloat by the sodden life-jacket. He sent a signal to the Admiralty and
the Commander-in- Chief, Western Approaches, then formed up his ships and
returned to the convoy by 5.30 p.m., eight hours after the hunt had
started. There would be few who could now criticise his lunge from the
screen. There might, perhaps, be more opportunities to use the same
offensive tactics, for a quick interrogation of prisoners had disclosed
the presence of other U-boats at the convoy. That same night the
congratulations arrived. One came from Sir Percy Noble which said with
customary brevity “Well Done.” The first round in the battle to get H.G. 76
through the U-boat cordon had gone to Walker. His novel tactics introduced
into the Atlantic for the first time had not only succeeded, but had wiped
away any doubts that any of his Group’s captains might have had of a
leader who, in the words of one officer left behind with the convoy during
the hunt, was “haring about the ocean at the expense of the convoy”. At
daylight on the 18th, Walker read a short service over the flag-covered
body of Sub-Lieutenant Fletcher and, as it was consigned to the sea, all
escorts and ships of the convoy dipped their ensigns in salute. Audacity
flew off her dawn patrol and the Commodore signalled to Walker. "Never
mind the gathering storm. With the score at one for nil, the convoy is
confident it is in good hands.”

CHAPTER 5 - U BOAT KILLER

KAPITANLEUTNANT HEYDA was worried about
U-131. There had been no report
from her throughout the day of the 17th and none all night. Having made
contact with the convoy in U-434 shortly after midnight he had decided
that, in the absence of “homing” reports from his colleague, he had better
take over as shadower. He was on the surface about ten miles from the
convoy at dawn on the 18th checking the positions of the nearest escorts
before diving to give the crew a chance to clean up the boat and have
breakfast in peace. Carrying out a similar check on the port beam of the
convoy, Stanley sighted him from a range of about six miles, on her port
quarter. She broke R/T silence to report to Walker and turned away at high
speed to attack. Exmoor,
Blankley and the sloop, Deptford, all of whom
were stationed within reasonable distance of the enemy were ordered to
join her, Walker’s principal concern being for Stanley’s asdic which had
been breaking down. She closed the enemy at twenty-four knots, hoping to
get near enough to drop depth charges with a reasonable chance of success.
But she was soon sighted by U-434, which crash dived in seconds with
Stanley still some three miles away. At a mile from the diving position,
she saw oil bubbles blow to the surface and, reducing speed, began
dropping single depth charges in a square around the area. Blankney
arrived and, picking up an asdic echo, dropped a quick pattern of five
depth charges set to explode at 150 feet. When the disturbance had died
away, she regained contact and acted as directing ship, passing the range
and bearing to the asdic-less Stanley who went in to drop a pattern of
fourteen charges set to 150 and 300 feet. While the spray was still
falling, the irrepressible Blankney, always willing to attack anything and
everything, raced in and dropped a ten-charge pattern in the same place.
Below the two ships, U-434 was reeling under the shock. The charges,
tumbling down, were causing damage faster than it could be repaired. The
conning tower hatch cover cracked and a steady stream of water poured down
at Heyda’s feet as he stood gripping the periscope column for support. The
lights went out and the auxiliary system failed. Another rocking blast put
the steering gear out of action. The finale came when the next pattern—Blankney’s
for luck, detonated so close that the blast pressure of the water exploded
one of their own torpedoes in the stern tubes. Panicking men shouted for’ard; the wounded in the stern screamed. Heyda glanced quickly at the
depth gauge. It showed them sinking rapidly and out of control.
White-faced, but calm, he ordered tanks to be blown and called the crew to
prepare for surfacing. Stanley and Blankney were preparing for another
attack when U- 434 came to the surface less than a mile ahead with such a
rush that she nearly leapt out of the water. Joyously, Blankney turned to
ram at full speed but was too late. Shouting and wailing like their
comrades in U-131 this crew jumped into the water. The last came up
through to the conning tower as U- 434 rolled over and sank. The two
destroyers, with the recently arrived Exmoor, picked up survivors and
rejoined the convoy, and Walker was able to signal that a second U-boat
had been sunk. During the morning two Focke-Wulfs appeared low on the
horizon and Audacity flew off two of her Martlets to engage them before
they had a chance to send out too many details on their radios. When they
came out of cloud ahead of the enemy, the guns of both aircraft
unfortunately jammed after the initial bursts and the two enemy bombers
scuttled off, one damaged slightly. After this Walker arranged with
Audacity’s captain that aircraft should be flown off for routine patrols
round the convoys at dusk and dawn each day. Any U-boats answering the
summons of the Focke-Wulfs would receive a warm welcome by H.G. 76 from
the air and the sea. Early in the afternoon, Exmoor and Blankney, who were
based at Gibraltar and had barely enough fuel to make, the return trip,
parted company reluctantly. Before they left, Blankney signalled to
Walker: “Regret very much having to leave you when the spoils of war
are still waiting to be plucked. Good luck, am proud to have sailed under
your orders.”

While on passage to Gibraltar, Blankney heard disquieting news from her
forty-five prisoners. She signalled Stork immediately with a warning:
“Have learned from prisoners that position, course and speed of convoy are
known to enemy together with name of aircraft-carrier.” In the late
afternoon, Audacity flew off her dusk patrol too early and nothing was
sighted. But as darkness approached, Penstemon, on the convoy’s port beam,
broke R/T silence to report sighting a U-boat on the surface about ten
miles to port, Walker ordered her to attack and told off another corvette,
Convolvulus, to join her. They gave chase and the U-boat dived. As
nightfall would cloak the convoy too soon for Walker to direct the chase,
he ordered the two ships to remain hunting only so long as there seemed a
chance of sinking the U-boat. While Convolvulus was taking down his
orders, the men on the bridge went rigid as her asdic loudspeaker picked
up the approach of torpedo propellers. “Hard a’ starboard,” shouted her
captain. “Full ahead.” Painfully and slowly the bows of the little ship
began to swing as the noise from the loudspeaker sounded like the rushing
of express trains. Suddenly a look-out shouted: “Torpedoes to port, Sir.”
The captain rushed to the side of the bridge in time to see the wakes of
two torpedoes about twenty feet away. It had been a very near miss. After
dark, the two ships lost contact with the submarine and rejoined the
convoy. For the next few hours peace came to H.G. 76. On the starboard
quarter, two miles from the end merchant ship I the starboard column,
Walker zig-zagged in Stork. The next ship to his left was Stanley,
covering the rear of the convoy a patrol two miles dead astern. The
weather was fine, only slightly overcast and with a pale on shining
bleakly through occasional breaks in the cloud. The sea was behaving much
the same as it had throughout the voyage; short and choppy, with a swell
big enough to roll a small ship round without being too uncomfortable. The
wind was light and bitterly cold.

At 3.45 in the morning of the 19th Stanley reported by R/T,
“Submarine in sight”. in his excitement the reporting officer forgot
to say where or on what bearing from the convoy. U-574 bad been the third
U-boat to contact H.G. 76 late on the 16th. Since then she bad been
staying close but doing nothing to give herself away. Her commander,
Oberleutnant Gegnalbach, had watched the sinking of U-131 through his
periscope and, slightly sickened, bad slunk away to the stern of the
convoy. He stayed there throughout the 18th while U-434 was being chased
and destroyed, and eventually decided to make his attack that night. He
surfaced and, increasing speed to catch up with the rear ships, got to
within three miles when the moon came out for longer than usual to bathe
the scene in a pale glow. He saw an escort on his port bow and, at the
same time, Stanley made her report. While Stanley turned to attack,
Gegnalbach gave a curt order. “Stand by torpedoes.” “Attacking.” ‘‘FIRE.’
Walker raged on the bridge of Stork. He had almost lived there throughout
the trip, retiring to his cabin only to shave and collapse wearily and
fully-dressed for an hour or two on his bunk during the day. Even then he
could not relax. As senior officer of the escort every signal affecting
the convoy or any ship in the escort was sent to Stork and had to be dealt
with during these precious moments. He could not see Stanley in the dark,
they were about six miles apart, and she had given him no idea of what
directions he should steer to support her attack. Grabbing the R/T phone
he shouted her code name and ordered: “Fire an illuminant to indicate
your position.” If a shadower had contact with the convoy there was
nothing much to give away. He had just replaced the telephone when Stanley
came on the air with another report: “Torpedoes passing from astern.”
As this was being given to Walker, one of his look-outs sighted Stanley
who blinked her recognition signal with a shaded Aldis lamp. “At the
moment,” wrote Walker in his Diary later, “when everything seemed to be
sorting itself out at once and I had myglasses on her, she went
up, literally, in a sheet of flame hundreds of feet high. She thought the
torpedoes were passing her.”

It was a few minutes after a.m. when Stanley was torpedoed, and Walker for
the first time ordered his “Operation Butter cup” to deal with this night
attack. Escorts turned outwards from the convoy firing starshell over the
areas ordered by the “Buttercup” instructions in an effort to illuminate
the probable directions of the U-boat’s escape on the surface. Walker took
Stork close to the burning, sinking Stanley and dropped depth charges in
case the attacker had submerged and was trying to escape detection by
hiding from asdics in the disturbance caused by the wreck. He took care
not to go closer than half a mile to avoid injuring any of Stanley’s
survivors. While turning round the stern of Stanley, Walker gained contact
with what his asdic team called a “certain” submarine. He went in to
attack, dropping a pattern of ten charges set to 50 and 150 feet. Then he
ran out for half a mile to turn again in readiness for another attack. The
second run-in had just started when the U-boat surfaced two hundred yards
ahead. Stork increased to full speed and steered a collision course. The
ensuing chase, which lasted for eleven minutes, is told in Walker’s Battle
Report. “As I went in to ram he ran away from me and turned to port. I
followed and I was surprised to find later that I had turned three
complete circles, the U-boat turning continuously to port just inside
Stork’s turning-circle at only two or three knots slower than me. I kept
her illuminated with snowflakes and fired at him with the four-inch guns
until they could not be sufficiently depressed. After this the guns’ crews
were reduced to fist shaking and roaring curses at an enemy who several
times seemed to be a matter of feet away rather than yards. “A burst of
our machine-gun fire was let off when these could bear, but the prettiest
shooting was made by my First Lieutenant, Lieut. G. T. S. Gray, DSC, RN,
with a stripped Lewis gun from over the top of the bridge screen. He
quickly reduced the conning tower to a mortuary. No men were seen to leave
the U-boat although they must have jumped some time judging from the
position in which we found the survivors later.”Eventually, Stork
managed to ram her quarry just before the conning tower. U hung for a
second on Stork’s stem before rolling off and scraping underneath her
until reaching the stern where she was greeted by a pattern of depth
charges set at shallowest settings. These blew her to pieces and even
rocked Stork dangerously. Several Germans in the water were blown to bits
by the depth charges, and Walker did not expect any survivors when he
steamed over to where some English-sounding shouts in the water indicated
•they might be some of the men from the stricken Stanley. They were
Germans, and with Samphire helping, Stork picked them up. From the
prisoners, he learned that his latest kill had been U-574. With five
prisoners aboard, Walker proceeded to search for Stanley’s survivors with
extra look-outs and the asdic team watching for signs of other U-boats.
There was little hope of anyone surviving the fire that had followed the
torpedo explosion in Stanley, but cries from the water soon disclosed that
twenty-five of them were swimming in a group. Stork’s boats pulled away
and brought them aboard. One died later.

In the middle of this operation there was a dull explosion and a flash
from the direction of the convoy. It was the SS Ruckinge, which managed to
send out her name on the radio before the crew abandoned ship. Walker
ordered Samphire to stay until she had picked up all survivors, and took
Stork back to the convoy at full speed. On the way, he stopped to rescue
from a lifeboat the master, chief engineer and twelve others of the
Ruckinge. By this time it was clear that more than one U-boat had attacked
the convoy, but it was now nearly 5.30 a.m. and they could expect some
respite. On board Stork at this stage were three Stanley survivors,
fourteen from Ruckinge, seven from U-131 and six from U-574. Walker
reported the night’s events to C-in-C, Western Approaches and to the
Admiralty. To crown a night of flame and smoke, a signal marked “urgent”
from the Admiralty reached them as dawn was breaking on the 19th, saying
that six U-boats appeared to be in the convoy’s vicinity! The Group felt
the loss of Stanley deeply and there was a sense of sadness that one of
the convoy had been sunk despite their efforts. But, in return, they had
inflicted a hammer blow on the enemy. In three days, he had lost three
ocean-going submarines and their crews. No escort before them could claim
such toll for so small a loss. Fortunately, the day proved quiet with only
sparring skirmishes. Walker, with Stork’s bows crushed in and bent
sideways by the force of her collision with U- had no wish to drive her
too hard. He had also lost the use of his asdic set and was virtually
powerless to attack anything submerged. In the afternoon, a Focke-Wulf
appeared to starboard with the obvious intention of establishing their
position, course and speed for a night U-boat attack. Walker ordered
Audacity’s aircraft up. “The resulting battle was pretty to watch,”
says his War Diary. “The two Martlets climbed at the enemy alternately
as he attempted to escape first in the clouds and then low over the sea.
They presently returned, leaving a very dead Focke-WuIf.” The
carrier’s dusk patrol sighted a U-boat on the surface fifteen miles away
on the port beam, and immediately Walker ordered Deptford, Marigold and
Convolvulus to hunt him at utmost speed, while he fumed at Stork’s own
inability to join in the search because of her “bent beak and my own
stupidity in getting the dome’ knocked off”. (
The asdic dome sticks out from the bottom of a ship like a small blister.
It sends out the “pings” which echo back when hitting an underwater
obstacle). But the force returned after dark, having found
nothing, only to be mistaken by some of the merchant ships for U-boats.
The ensuing bout of pyrotechnics as they fired their snowflakes to
illuminate the “enemy” did not, however, disturb the remainder of the
night. The U-boats were around, but for some reason failed to press home
the attack. Perhaps they had learned of the fate served out to their three
colleagues. The 20th passed uneventfully except for occasional darts
outwards by Audacity’s aircraft to attack U-boats reported shadowing the
convoy, and by noon on the 20th Walker had made up his mind that, no
matter what evasive alterations of course it took, the convoy was still
going to be shadowed. Therefore he might as well take the shortest route
home. In his War Diary, he wrote with obvious weariness: “The net of
U-boats seems to be growing tighter around us despite Audacity’s heroic
efforts to keep them at arm’s length.”

That night, when the moon had gone behind a thick layer of overcast, he
turned the convoy on to a course heading straight for the Western
Approaches while he continued with a small escort force on a northwesterly
course, the convoy’s general direction for the past few days. Once well
away from the convoy, he staged a mock battle with the ships firing their
starshell and snowflakes and dashing around as though in search of
U-boats. Walker hoped that any U-boats shadowing them would be persuaded
by the fuss that they had somehow lost the convoy and would come hurrying
over to rejoin. In this way, he would draw them off H.G. 76 and bring them
to his doorstep where Ins “feudin’ and fussin’ “ force of decoys could get
them on the surface. Unfortunately, some merchantmen, seeing all this
happen on the horizon, thought they were being attacked and immediately
started firing their own snowflakes to warn their escort of an enemy
attack and to see if a stray U-boat had penetrated into the convoy lanes.
With the true position of the convoy now revealed, starkly, while the
snowflake burned, and his ace-in-the-hole tipped off to the enemy, Walker
took his force back to resume escort positions. Stork had no sooner taken
up her own station astern of the convoy when the balloon went up again.
Still on his bridge for the fourth day and night, Walker turned at a shout
from his Officer of the Watch to see a ship disintegrate in flames on his
starboard bow. Immediately, he called up the Group on R/T and ordered a
“BUTTERCUP” illuminations search to starboard of the convoy. This was a
blunder, which he later admitted. The torpedoed ship, was in fact, the
last in the line of the centre column and the search should have been
ordered astern of the convoy. A few minutes later, about it p.m., the
carrier Audacity which had done such noble work with her aircraft flying
in impossible weather, reported herself torpedoed. Walker’s Battle Report
says: “For the last three nights, Audacity with one corvette had
zig-zagged independently well clear of the convoy. Before dark to-night
she had asked for a corvette and proposed to operate on the starboard side
of the convoy. I had regretfully refused the corvette since I had only
four escorts immediately around the convoy. I also suggested she should
take station to port of the convoy since I anticipated any attack from the
starboard side. Audacity replied that the convoy’s alterations of course
to port would inconvenience her and eventually she went off to starboard
alone. “I should have finally ordered her either on to the port side or
into the middle of the convoy and I feel myself accordingly responsible
for her loss.”

Penstemon

Marigold, Convolvulus and Samphire were sent off to starboard where the
carrier listed badly ten miles away. Of the survivors, one was in
immaculate uniform, sitting in a Carley raft with a suitcase full of
personal belongings. He was a young lieutenant, RNVR who, the moment
Audacity had parted with the convoy that evening to starboard, had
announced to the wardroom: “The senior officer of the escort is right, you
know, chaps. We should have gone to port. And to back it up I’m going to
pack my bags and put one in a raft all ready for the bright and jolly
evacuation.” It had seemed quite a good joke a few hours before. Walker
had been in an awkward and, in many respects, unfair position. Although
senior officer of the escort, and as such able to call on Audacity for
assistance in hunting down the enemy, the commanding officer of the
carrier, Commander D. W. MacKendrick, RN, was his senior. Walker’s job was
to protect the convoy and see it through as intact as possible. Audacity
was there to help him do it. On that last night, he felt the convoy needed
the greater measure of protection and refused to part with a corvette to
screen what he considered to be Audacity’s recklessness in manoeuvring to
starboard of the convoy, the danger side. But in terms of seniority he
could not give orders to MacKendrick on anything, and he was reluctant to
argue openly by signal the niceties of rank between the senior officer of
an escort and the commanding officer of an aircraft carrier. It fell to
Penstemon to sight Commander MacKendrick swimming among the oil and debris
in a state of collapse. He was on their weather side and the ship was
rolling heavily in mounting sea and swell. The ship’s boat was away
pickingup other survivors and, when he saw the danger of the
drowning officer being cut to ribbons by the keel, Lieutenant Williams,
RNVR, the First Lieutenant, stripped off his jacket and plunged overboard
to try and tie a rope round the exhausted Commander. MacKendrick’s body,
supported only by a life jacket, floated limply on the water. Williams
managed to get a lifebuoy round him and signalled his crew to haul the
officer on board. But while they were trying to pull him to the ship’s
side, a particularly heavy roll jerked the rope out of their hands.
Members of the crew had just enough time to grab the exhausted Williams
before MacKendrick drifted away in the swell. That was the last seen of
him. While the rescue work was going on, Deptford, on the convoy’s port
beam, sighted a U-boat on the surface between herself and the convoy.
Walker joined her, firing starshell, and Deptford ran in to attack. The
enemy dived and, for the next hour, Deptford and Stork carried out a
series of depth charge attacks until finally all contact was lost. In
their opinion, the U-boat had sunk but, in the absence of any evidence,
such as wreckage or survivors, Walker refused to confirm it as a “kill”.
They made several more runs on what appeared to be a sub marine lying
deep. Eventually, Walker called off the attack, classified it as a
“probable kill” and stationed Deptford on the convoy’s port beam with
Stork on the bow. This submarine was later admitted by the Germans to have
been destroyed and was identified as another 740-tonner, U-567 commanded
by Kapitanleutnant Endrass.’ (Endrass had been
First Lieutenant of U-47 commanded by Gunter Prien, when she penetrated
Scapa Flow earlier in the war).

U567 is in the centre

By three in the morning of the 22nd, a lull in the fighting gave Walker
a chance to assess the position. Once again, only one of the convoy had
gone down, the Norwegian tanker,
SS Annavore (3,000 tons), but the loss of
Audacity with her aircraft was the most grievous blow. In retaliation they
had beaten off most attacks and scored a “probable”. Walker ordered the
corvettes picking up survivors to return to the screen and on the bridge
murmured aloud a prayer that the U-boats would spend the rest of the night
licking their wounds and regrouping. Fifteen minutes later, Stork’s crew
were startled by an unusually heavy crash. Walker and the bridge personnel
rushed to look aft and to their astonishment saw the bows of Deptford
cutting into Stork’s quarter deck. A look-out in Deptford had seen what he
thought was a U-boat close on the surface. The Officer of the Watch had
altered course and crammed on full speed, at the same time calling his
captain who was down in the chartroom estimating the convoy’s position.
When it was too late, the “U-boat” was seen to be Stork. Damage was
serious if not vital. Describing the scene in his War Diary, Walker wrote:
“Deptford’s stern had walked straight into the temporary prison and two
of the five Boche captives there were pulped literally into a bloody mess.
When I went aft in the dark later to inspect the damage I walked straight
into the hole and found myself with my feet among the Boche corpses and my
elbows on the quarter deck.” When he had been helped back on deck, he
turned to a group of sailors and muttered quietly: “Well, well, well.
Never a dull moment.” Then he returned to the bridge. There were no
further attacks that night, but at dawn on the 22nd, the balance sheet
showed a gloomy picture, as far as the escort was concerned. Stork’s asdic
equipment was useless; her depth charges had to be moved to the bows to
lighten the stern damaged by Deptford; and her speed had been reduced to
ten knots; Deptford herself had a damaged stem, her asdic was out of
action and her maximum speed was eleven knots; most of the Group’s radar
sets had packed up; Audacity and her aircraft had followed Stanley to the
bottom. During the day, a Liberator arrived to patrol round the convoy for
nearly three hours. At this time, a Focke-Wulf paid them a brief visit but
soon vanished in the clouds. At 4 pm, as darkness was falling, the
Liberator reported two U-boats on the surface twenty-five miles astern of
the convoy. They were lying alongside each other, when the aircraft broke
cloud, and a wide plank bridged the gap between them. Men were crossing
from one to another and it seemed likely they were repairing some sort of
damage. The aircraft dived and shot three men off the plank before the
U-boats drew apart. It was learned later that one of them had been holed
previously either by depth charges or gunfire during the convoy battle and
had been trying to effect repairs that prevented her from diving. When the
aircraft appeared, the crew of the damaged U-boat transferred to the other
leaving behind scuttling charges. When the latter left the scene at high
speed on the surface and the other one sank as the scuttling charges went
off the aircraft thought she had submerged.

The U-boat had quite certainly been damaged by the escort and finished
off unwittingly by the aircraft. The score could now read four and a half
U-boats destroyed by the Group, as they shared honours with the Liberator
for this last kill. At midnight, the SS Ogmore Castle shuddered under a
particular heavy sea. Officers and crew were suddenly convinced that they
had rammed a U-boat, and were holed themselves. They rushed to the boats
and abandoned ship. Convolvulus investigated, found the deserted ship to
be floating quite serenely and informed the crew in the lifeboats that
they could re-board their ship. By dawn, the Ogmore Castle had resumed her
station in the convoy, manned by a sheepish crew. The night passed without
further incident, the quietest for seven days, and, at noon on the 23rd,
the convoy was led into the Western Approaches “safe” area by an exhausted
but happy Group. The Commodore signalled Walker: “Despite the loss of
Audacity and Stanley, you have won a great victory. On behalf of the
convoy deepest congratulations and many thanks.” Walker acknowledged
and set off for Plymouth to have Stork’s damaged “beak” repaired. The
convoy that had to get through had started off from Gibraltar with
thirty-two ships and now arrived in the United Kingdom thirteen days later
with two fewer. Before docking in Plymouth, Walker received a message from
Sir Percy Noble saying: “You are required to attend a meeting with
myself and the Director of Anti-Submarine Warfare at the Admiralty at 1500
on Tuesday, January 6th.”

CHAPTER 6 - SPLICE THE MAINBRACE!

Distinguished Service Order

Ashore in Plymouth, Walker telephoned
his wife and arranged to meet her in London. He held a series of
conferences with his First Lieutenant and the Dockyard Superintendent to
facilitate the effective and speedy repair of Stork; sent his Report of
Proceedings of the last voyage to the Admiralty; and eventually vanished
from Plymouth for a week’s rest. In the days that followed, the Admiralty
issued a statement announcing the award of the DSO but to Walker the Press
publicity was not only unexpected, but unwanted. He cringed from the
thought of his name being published in anything more widely read than the
Navy List. When a staff officer phoned to say the naval reporters wished
to interview him, he instructed that his whereabouts be kept secret. For
the remainder of his leave he was nervous if the telephone rang or anyone
other than a tradesman called at his house. According to his elder sister,
now Mrs. Georgina Forbes, he had once appeared as a child ballet dancer
before a huge audience at the Albert Hall which had led to a fit of
uncontrollable sobbing and a hatred of ever again making a spectacle of
himself. It may be that his passionate dislike of publicity stemmed from
this experience. Now, as an active service commander, although still sub
consciously frightened of making a spectacle of himself, he resented any
invasion of his privacy and was forever indignant at any individual should
be singled out for public acclaim when the work had been done by a team.
At 3 p.m. on January 6th, he entered the office of the Director of
Anti-Submarine Warfare at the Admiralty to find Admiral Sir Percy Noble,
Captain George Creasy and other senior officers already in conference and
waiting for him. Despite his commanding height and lean, tanned
appearance, he shrank from talking too freely in front of superiors and
subsided into his chair in the hope that his presence might be forgotten.
But he had been invited specially to give the conference a chance to
discuss the strategic and tactical policy of the U-boat war in the light
of his experience with HG 76. He answered questions briefly, saying
much in few words. His impact on the Atlantic battle had been sudden and
successful and, through the reports of Sir Percy Noble and Captain Creasy,
more swiftly recognised by the Admiralty than was usual in that citadel of
conservatism. When question time was over, he was asked to make
recommendations for future operations. This was unexpected, but he gave
his reply without pulling punches.

“(1) Aircraft are absolutely invaluable
for anti-submarine work. There should be shore-based patrol planes for
hunting down U-boats and carrier-borne fighters for destroying the
Focke-Wulf bombers on ‘homing’ patrols. Audacity, her staff and pilots,
put up a matchless performance.

(2) Every effort should be made to
provide convoys with two protective screens—an outer and an inner. By day
the outer screen sights U-boats on the surface farther away from the
convoy and can attack in offensive striking forces well clear of the
merchantmen. By night, U-boats are forced to attack from between the
screens or at least to penetrate both.

(3) By day, ALL escorts should be used as striking forces for offensive
lunges away from the convoy, attacking U-boats detected as far away as
thirty miles.

(4) The 36th Escort Group ‘OPERATION
BUTTERCUP’ is a sound plan despite my putting it into operation on the
wrong side on one occasion. But snowflake illuminant rockets are a menace
in the convoy. I am well aware that merchant ships are fitted with tins to
‘turn night into day’. But I feel strongly that there should be no
guarantee that snowflakes will not be fired at exactly the wrong moment.
Neither can we legislate for the regrettable tendency of some ships in an
emergency, real or imaginary, to fire everything, drop everything and
abandon ship.”

It was his third point that brought
immediate opposition. His remarks on air co-operation were to be passed to
Coastal Command; the question of ships for outer and inner screen,
although desirable for the future, was dismissed as impracticable at the
present moment due to lack of available ships; and his comment on
snowflakes in merchant ships was brushed aside as being based on an
isolated and unfortunate experience. The question of whether escorts
should be used as striking forces for forays against the enemy well away
from the convoy aroused instant opposition. Privately, Walker determined to go his
own way and rely on success to keep him out of trouble. By the time he
left the room he had no doubts that he would be a watched man. When his
leave was up, he returned to Plymouth while Eileen stayed on in London.
With her husband and two sons in uniform—Timmy was serving in a destroyer
and Nicholas a sub-lieutenant in Ajax—she had decided to take a war job
herself and was about to start in the Naval Section of Censorship. Walker
found in Plymouth that Stork would not be ready until March, but on
January 10th he was ordered to take temporary command of a sloop, Pelican,
and lead his Group to sea for another trip to Gibraltar. Before sailing he
called onboard Stork and found waiting for him the official signals
concerning his decoration. To his officers, who would stay with Stork
while she was being repaired and Walker went to sea in Pelican, he seemed
somewhat overwhelmed by the honour which had come his way so unexpectedly;
and to their affectionate amusement was obviously very shy about the whole
thing. The Group, consisting of Samphire, Rhododendron, Penstemon, F
Marigold and Gardenia, met Pelican off the Irish coast and rendezvoused with
the convoy, CG 78, in the approaches, northwest of Ireland. Deptford and
Convolvulus remained behind in Liverpool for minor repairs. For the next three days they battled
southwards against a fierce southerly gale, sheets of rain blotting out
the horizon, wind shrieking through the rigging and angry seas buffeting
their bows. Penstemon reported all her lifeboats smashed and as of the
Group had suffered damage to vital equipment. By the 16th the convoy had
been scattered and only thirteen of the original twenty-six ships were in
sight. Three more sleepless nights were spent in rounding up the lost ones
and, at dawn on the 19th, it looked as though most of the flock had been
returned to the fold. But a rapid count showed eight still missing and the
Group steamed off again into the boiling seas for another search.
Eventually, on the 21st, the weather abated and the risk of attack
returned with calmer days. The Group took up their screen with four ships
still unaccounted. No attack developed and, on the 24th, the convoy was
delivered to Gibraltar intact except for the errant quartet who luckily
survived all hazards and reached the Rock next day.

Three days later, they sailed again with
a homeward-bound convoy, a trip remembered by the Group only for the
exercises Walker ordered to increase “team” efficiency. At any time of day
he might order a variety of dummy attacks; at night he would instruct all
ships to carry out depth-charge drill and it was not considered safe for a
commander to report progress until he could say his charges were ready
within thirty seconds. By the time they reached the Western Approaches,
most of the ships’ companies were praying earnestly for a U-boat “pack” to
arrive and spare them all these fake alarms and scares. On landing at
Liverpool, Walker learned that Stork was to be ready for sea ahead of
schedule and, after turning over Pelican to a new commanding officer, he
entrained for Plymouth to take his own ship to sea again. The next day,
slim dapper young Sub-Lieutenant John Filleul, RN, arrived in Plymouth to
join Stork. After nine years in Canada, he had followed his father into
the Navy; but for a number of reasons, probably caused by recent Canadian
influence on his outlook, he had felt rather a misfit in his last ship, a
cruiser in which pomp was expected and frequent parades. As he boarded
Stork he was filled with misgivings about the future. Perhaps this was
another ship in which all he did would bring down the wrath of both
captain and first lieutenant. He was standing on the quarter deck idly
watching an officer cross the gangway and vanish below when a voice
shouted:
“Who was that who just came aboard, Sub ?“ Filleul turned to face the
First Lieutenant and muttered that he did not know. Secretly he wondered
how he, a newcomer, could reasonably be expected to know. Later, a tall,
athletic looking commander came aboard, glanced at Filleul and said, “Come
down to my cabin, Sub.” Filleul groaned inwardly. What had he done wrong
already? From experience he knew that interviews with commanders could be
unpleasant milestones in a young officer’s life. Instead, the senior
officer introduced himself as Commander Walker and invited him to have a
gin.From that moment, the young Sub-Lieutenant viewed senior officers in a
different light; his bias against the Service fell away and, like all
other officers who served under Walker in the years ahead, it was the
beginning of a discipleship, almost a dedication, to a captain he admired
and respected above all others. Walker spent the next trip working up his
own ship’s company after their long spell in harbour and resumed
exercising the Group, often to the amusement of the convoy Commodore who
interrupted intricate manoeuvres with a stream of rude signals. Walker
retaliated by “requesting” the Commodore to exercise his convoy in a
variety of evasive turns, so that “I can keep my escort up to scratch and
assist in the working out of new escort stations”. It was a flimsy enough
excuse but served to give the by now thoroughly irate Commodore some
anxious moments as the lumbering merchantmen either failed to see his
altering course signals or merely decided to ignore them. This flock also
arrived at the Rock without incident and, almost immediately, the Group
about-turned to bring HG 80 home to England, a convoy the enemy refused to
attack.

Sir Percy Noble Addresses
Ships company

While lying in Gladstone Dock waiting to
be ammunitioned and stored for the next voyage, Stork was inspected by
Admiral Sir Percy Noble. Walker laid on a special display of action drills
and afterwards the ship’s company were mustered on the quarter deck to be
addressed by their Commander-in- Chief. “I am very much impressed,” said
Sir Percy, “with the efficiency of this ship. We can win this battle
against the U boats only by constant drilling and training—and you are all
well-drilled and well-trained. You have been successful in your actions
against the enemy and it would take a blind man to fail to see your
keenness and eagerness to come to grips with him again. I am proud of you
all.”

Later, in the privacy of his office, Sir
Percy told his Chief of Staff: “That crowd in Stork are an amazingly
efficient team. They can run and fight their ship blindfold. And everyone
of them adores Walker. I could see they would follow him without question
anywhere he chose to lead. If we can get all our ships trained and keyed
up to that pitch we will make the U-boat crews wish they had never been
born.” When the 36th Group sailed again from Liverpool on April 12th, Walker
was becoming a little concerned about his ships. So many trips with only
drills and exercises to relieve the strain and tension of guarding against
attacks which never materialised, made him suspect that his commanding
officers were getting stale. He hoped sincerely that the enemy would soon
make some sort of an appearance. As if the enemy were reading his mind, he
received on the 14th a warning from the Admiralty that a U-boat was in the
vicinity of his convoy, HG 82, probably about thirty miles away. That
evening Walker had taken Stork to the stern of the convoy, the most
dangerous position, as U-boats were known to be fond of night attacks from
the stern, and Vetch was in station about two miles ahead of the convoy’s
port column. At 9.30 Vetch’s radar operator reported
an object about four miles on the port quarter; this would put it about
three miles on the port bow of the column’s leading ship. Vetch turned
hurriedly to investigate and approached what at first sight appeared to be
a corvette end-on, which she took to be her sister ship, Penstemon. Her
commanding officer, however, had thoroughly absorbed the teachings, drills
and exercises of his Group leader, and. leaving nothing to chance, fired a
round of starshell to make sure. In the pale glare of the shell, they saw
a U-boat, U-252 less than a mile away, and heading fast into the convoy.
At once, they saw it wheel round; then the bridge watch heard the
unmistakable sounds of torpedoes approaching on the asdic loudspeaker.
Fetch took drastic evasive action while breaking R/T silence to tell
Walker: “Submarine one mile away from us.” The torpedoes missed Vetch by
about twenty feet and she opened fire just as the U-boat decided to dive.
Her next report to Walker—”Submarine has dived”—caused some
agitation in Stork, for again it gave no position or indication that Vetch
had left her station ahead of the port column. However, Walker saw Vetch’s
machine-gun tracer bullets and, heading towards them at full speed,
ordered the corvette to indicate her position by firing a snowflake
rocket. As soon as this had been done and the area of the attack
pinpointed to the port side of the convoy, he altered course to join Vetch
and instructed the remainder of the Group to stay close to the convoy. By
the time he arrived, the convoy had drawn ahead and Vetch was searching
for asdic contact.

Just as Stork was coming abreast of
Vetch, the U-boat surfaced ahead of them about a mile away, and both ships
gave chase. The enemy proved an elusive target and Stork herself fired
more than a hundred rounds without any hits being observed. This was no
reflection on the gunnery, but rather a measure of what a small target is
presented to the firing ship by a 500-ton U-boat trimmed down on the
surface on a dark night and at a fine, slanting inclination to the hunter.
Vetch, a little overwhelmed at the drama of the chase and the presence of
Walker, excitedly broke R/T silence to claim four hits. Walker remained
unimpressed and his doubts were justified at 10.30 p.m. when the U-boat
suddenly crash-dived, an unlikely procedure had it been hit and holed.
Vetch was nearest the diving point and, anticipating orders, ran in to
drop a ten-charge pattern in the still swirling water. As she drew clear,
Walker took Stork in for a second attack with ten more charges set to
explode rather deeper. Between them the two ships carried out five
attacks, dropping fifty depth charges in the next twenty minutes and, at
11 pm, Walker called off Vetch and waited for something to appear. He
wrote in his Diary: “I was tolerably certain that the Boche had been
poleaxed, as indeed he had. Wreckage boiled to the surface and in high
delight I had a boat lowered to investigate.” As they steamed back to the
convoy Vetch signalled Walker requesting permission to splice the
mainbrace. In his reply, Walker said: “Approved and heartiest
congratulations on your a work.” To which the elated little corvette
commented: ‘Very many thanks. Let’s have another one.”

Shortly after midnight, both ships
received signals from the First Sea Lord and C-in-C, Western Approaches,
saying “Well Done”. Vetch’s signal set the pattern for celebrating all
Walker’s future successes. From then on, it became customary for all ships
under his command to “splice the mainbrace” after ever confirmed kill. Two
days later they sighted a merchant ship’s Carley raft bobbing forlornly
out to starboard. Walker took Stork close. and it seemed to be empty;
certainly no one was getting excited about the approach of a warship.
Suddenly, a look-out shouted: “There’s a dog still alive, Sir.” Sure
enough, when they came alongside there was a small. grey-brown mongrel of
obscure parentage huddled in a corner of the raft, too wet and weak to
raise more than a whimper. A few minutes later he was aboard Stork being
warmed. fed and cared for as no waif drifting about the Atlantic had ever
been cared for before, indeed it is unlikely that a puppy has ever been
found in such circumstances. In no time he was called “Buster” and, when
capable of sounding off a few healthy yaps, trotted off to inspect the
ship. He found it a “likely craft” and showed his democratic spirit by
making a daily visit to both wardroom and mess decks. After several trips,
the thunder of roaring depth charges left him as unmoved as the crack of
the guns. He adopted an action station on the bridge, despite the almost
vertical ladders he had to climb unaided. Normally, he would sit around
waiting to be carried up or down, but the moment the alarm bells rang he
took the ladders in his stride under his own steam. Nothing further
interfered with the peaceful passage of the convoy which arrived at
Gibraltar intact on the 24th. The sinking of U-252 had all the ingredients
of a classic Walker attack. With a minimum of signalling, the Group was
split into two units, the hunting team and the continuing escort with the
convoy. During the action, the value of drill emerged as an essential to
success. The depth-charge crews, the asdic team, the guns crews and
signalmen played split-second and vital roles. A hitch anywhere and a
determined, clever and slippery opponent might have escaped to sink more
ships on another day. Throughout the attack the signalling of orders and
reports between Vetch and Stork were kept down to a total of eight
messages, embracing twenty-five words.

The final chapter in the U-boat’s life
was told by Walker who, as usual, played down his own share. “Vetch acted
with exemplary initiative and dash,” he wrote. “He saved the convoy from
attack, and his bulldog tenacity in clinging on to the U-boat was mainly
responsible for bringing her to a very fitting end. To him must be given
the larger slice of credit. No doubt she received a blow from Stork just
where the chicken got the axe, but it was Vetch’s final pattern which
doubtless reduced all buoyant remains of U-boat and crew to the disgusting
mess of junk, matchwood and butcher’s exhibits which were later found.”
Among the awards was the first Bar to Johnnie Walker’s D.S.O. Two more
voyages across the Bay of Biscay passed without more than irritating
skirmishes with the enemy which kept the Group in a constant state of
readiness. They returned to Gibraltar in May and, on June 9 sailed again
to rendezvous with the HG 84 for the trip home. Wear, tear and enemy
action had reduced the 36th Escort Group to Stork, Marigold, Convolvulus
and Gardenia; Vetch stayed in Gibraltar for repairs. The Group’s career
had been short, eventful and successful. Whenever the enemy had approached
in number they had been counter-attacked until forced to retire while the
Group sailed home with trophies and prisoners. In between they had their
full share of patient, monotonous slogging waiting for an enemy who rarely
appeared but might easily launch surprise attacks at the most unlikely
times. This had taken its toll of the Group’s strength and they needed
action to restore morale. The four ships of the decimated 36th Escort
Group took over convoy HG 84 off Gibraltar on June 9th. It consisted of
twenty merchantmen, with Commodore H. T. Hudson, RNR sailing in the SS
Pelavo, leading ship of the centre column. In the port outer column was a
CAM ship,’ Empire Morn, ( These were known as Catapult Aircraft
Merchantmen.) while astern of the convoy was the SS Copeland, the rescue
ship responsible for picking up survivors should any of the convoy be
sunk. She was equipped with up-to-date medical instruments and her decks
were laid out like a hospital ward. Survivors could look forward to every
comfort in Copeland, providing she herself did not get torpedoed.

Walker stationed his escorts about the
convoy in accordance with his usual practice, although four ships could
hardly be called a screen. By day, he patrolled ahead of the convoy with
Marigold on starboard beam, Gardenia to port and Convolvulus astern. At
night he changed places with Convolvulus, taking Stork to the stern, the
position from which a shadower might be intercepted. To the convoy, the
sight of a lone sloop with three ponderous corvettes in attendance could
not have presented too comforting a sight or provided an uplift for men
about to cross the most dangerous strip of water in the entire Atlantic
battlefield—the Bay of Biscay. At the convoy conference held on the Rock
before sailing, the briefing officer had been subjected to some grim
sarcasm when he told the Merchant Navy captains the size of their escort.
Walker headed northwards to a rendezvous with three more ships due to join
the convoy from Lisbon. These arrived on the 12th and the convoy settled
down on a northerly course, certain now of attack, for the newcomers had
been shadowed to the main convoy by a Focke-Wulf. Already their position,
with probable course and speed, would be plotted on the charts of every
U-boat within hearing distance of the aircraft’s signals. Walker nearly
ordered the Empire Morn’s fighter up to shoot down the intruder, but this
was a trick that could only be pulled once and he decided to save it for
another and possibly more urgent occasion. In any event, the weather might
not have been calm enough to ensure the safe recovery of the pilot. The
sea was running fairly rough in a high wind and the swell was long enough
to start several of the convoy swinging dangerously close to each other.
During the 13th enemy aircraft were never far away, appearing at intervals
in gaps between the low-lying, fast-moving cloud which provided excellent
cover for their patrols. Next day, the Focke-Wulfs kept up their shadowing
activities in relays until Walker decided that they might be more cautious
and less eager if one or more could be destroyed. He ordered Empire Morn
to fly off her Hurricane to shoot down the one Focke-Wulf in sight and to
patrol until fuel ran out and the pilot was forced to ditch. The fighter
was catapulted into the air shortly after noon and soared off to engage
the enemy. Unfortunately, the pilot managed to get only two quick bursts
at the shadower before he found a cloud and vanished into its cover. An
hour later he pancaked neatly alongside a ship in the starboard column and
was picked up as the plane broke in the sea.

At 4 p.m. the rescue ship, Copeland’,
intercepted on HF/DF’ (An instrument for intercepting U.boat wireless
signals) a U-boat signalling its first sighting report of the convoy from
somewhere in the outfield on the port quarter of the convoy. Walker had to
choose, to keep his slender screen intact round the convoy, or to dart out
to attack the chattering U-boat. Most captains at that time would have
taken the safer, and in many ways the sounder, course of staying with the
convoy in the hope of beating off the “pack”, but Walker, restless and
impatient to destroy the enemy before he could attack the convoy,
signalled Gardenia to join Stork, and raced away to hunt down the homing
U-boat. By taking this decision he virtually threw away the rule book and
staked his career on the success of the offensive lunge and his belief
that the convoy would be quite safe in the hands of Convolvulus and
Marigold during his absence. The two ships steamed for nearly fifty
minutes at 15 knots, Gardenia’s maximum speed, before a look-out in
Stork’s crow’s nest shouted excitedly down the voice pipe to the bridge:
“Submarine on the surface dead ahead, Sir.” They had been lucky to sight
the target so quickly. While this information was being flashed to
Gardenia, Walker ordered full speed and sent for his engineer officer.
Only a brief glance at the conning tower dimly visible in the haze ten
miles away was needed for him to rush back to the engine-room to begin
coaxing the last revolution possible from the straining, willing engines.
Almost at once they were sighted by the enemy who turned rapidly and began
running away on the surface, evidently hoping she could out-distance her
hunters. In fact, she was a knot or two slower than Stork whose crew,
closed up at action stations, were already training their guns on the
target. But they were still out of range. At seven miles they could hope
to reach him; at six and a half they could probably score hits. Two hours
later, Gardenia was dropping further and further astern and, in Stork, the
range-finder crew were calling out the ranges as the gap narrowed with
painful slowness. “Fourteen thousand five hundred, Sir.”
(One nautical
mile is equivalent to 2,000 yards) They were overhauling steadily.
“Fourteen thousand, Sir.” A minute had passed, seeming like an hour.
“Thirteen thousand six hundred, Sir.” The guns crews tensed for the order to
open fire when suddenly the U-boat decided he could not outstrip the sloop
and crash-dived. As it vanished in a faintly discernible swirl of bubbling
water, Walker was presented with a nasty theoretical problem. It would
take Stork nearly twenty minutes to reach the diving point and, in that
time, the quarry could steam for about two miles at least in any
direction. In seconds, Walker had to decide the direction he must steer to
intercept and pick her up on the asdic. The U-boat had dived on a
northwesterly course. Logically, she might be expected to continue on that
course to keep pace with the convoy and resume her shadowing should her
attackers give up the chase. After signalling Gardenia to follow suit,
Walker altered course slightly to the south, decreased speed and ordered
his asdic team to commence their sweep. He had gambled on the enemy doing
exactly the opposite to what might be expected. If the gamble failed and
the U-boat slipped past them, the convoy would be at his mercy, virtually
un protected. There was another move. The U-boat Commander could torpedo
his tormentor and rid himself of the fastest and most effective escort in
the screen. In the minutes that followed, the tension throughout Stork
increased visibly as guns crews, cheated of a target, moved to their
platform rails with eyes searching for a periscope. On the bridge, Walker
sat hunched in a wooden seat specially built for him behind the gyro
compass. With a slight smile he murmured orders to the helmsman and kept
one ear on reports from the asdic team. Suddenly, the hoped-for report
rang out. “Echo bearing 340 degrees, Sir.”

The gamble had come off. He had intercepted the U-boat, thirty minutes
after its dive. It was slightly on his starboard bow. The smile became a
grin as he gave the order: “Going in to attack.” Stork shuddered under
light helm and increased speed. The asdic operator shouted out the
decreasing ranges as they ran towards the echo. The U-boat passed beneath.
“Fire. . . The asdic officer pressed the bell to the depth-charge crews in
the stern, and ten charges of high explosive were shot into the air and
tumbled from racks into the water. For nearly a minute the crew of Stork
waited silently as she slowed down and turned. Then the ear-splitting
cracks of detonating depth charges roared in their ears and the boiling
surging water was flung skywards. Stork altered course and the men leaned
over at their action stations for signs of destruction. Not a pint of oil
marked the position of the recent explosions. Their first attack had
failed. It took four more attacks to convince Walker that he had met a
cunning opponent, not to be easily panicked into some desperate man that
would give him away. It seemed that he was varying his depth after every
attack and probably circling at the same time inside Stork’s own turning
circle. By this time, Gardenia had arrived, and Walker, his own supply of
depth charges reduced to eighteen, sent her in for a sixth attack. One of
Gardenia’s first ten depth charges exploded prematurely and spectacularly,
blowing her ensign into tatters and seriously damaging her stern and
engine-room. She might still attack but would be ruled out as an efficient
escort in future operations with the convoy. The two ships kept up the
hunt until 10 p.m. with Stork directing Gardenia’s attacks. As nightfall
was approaching and the convoy drawing further away, Walker decided to
return before the “pack” could launch its attack. He ordered Gardenia to
continue with the hunt for as long as she was able, or until the U-boat
had been destroyed, and himself set course to catch up the convoy at full
speed. On the other side of the convoy, Marigold was also hurrying to
reach the convoy before dark. As Walker gained asdic contact with his
U-boat, Marigold had left the convoy at high speed to hunt another
reported fifteen miles away on the starboard bow. Her commanding officer
had anticipated that this was what Walker would have wanted him to do and
judged that, as the U-boats were not likely to attack until dark,
Convolvulus could remain in sole possession of the field immediately round
the convoy. Convolvulus did not protest, and an hour later Marigold
sighted her quarry about to dive twelve miles away. She attacked a
“certain sub echo” three times before breaking off to the action to resume
her position on the screen. She expected to rejoin at about 1 a.m.

Walker arrived at the convoy at midnight
and confidently took up his station astern. A quick analysis of the
situation showed that the prospects for the night could have been worse;
one U-boat was being kept down forty-five miles away on the port quarter
by Gardenia; another, now thirty miles away, had been severely shaken by
Marigold; Convolvulus had sneaked in a quick lunge during Marigold’s
absence and chased a U-boat out of sight on the starboard bow; and if
Marigold could resume her station by i a.m. only Gardenia would be missing
from the screen. Marigold was fifteen minutes late rejoining, and in that
vital time gap an undetected “pack” pounced. The Commodore’s ship, Felavo,
was the first to go up. She vanished in a cloud of smoke, flame and spray,
the blast of the exploding torpedo blowing Commodore Hudson through the
canvas awnings over his bridge into the night. He was never seen again.
Well astern of the convoy, the flash and roar of the torpedo striking home
had just been reported in Stork and alarm bells were ringing when another
ship, the SS. Strib, was silhouetted starkly for a fraction of a second as
two torpedoes struck her amidships. A third ship burst into flame on the
other side of the convoy, the SS Slendal. All three sank in a few minutes.
Walker ordered his illuminant operation, “Buttercup”, to be put into
effect astern of the convoy, unhappily aware that only his ship and
Marigold, now coming up from astern, could hope to carry it out. It was a
fruitless search. In fact, the attacking U-boats had come in on the bows
and were retreating on the surface ahead of the convoy, successfully
dodging the twisting and turning Convolvulus. Walker ordered Marigold to
stay astern and assist Copeland to search for and rescue survivors. This
was an unfortunate move. The U-boats had not yet finished with convoy HG
84 for the night and were forming up for the second attack off the
starboard beam, where Marigold would have been had she resumed her
station. There was a preliminary skirmish at 4 a.m. when one of Stork’s
look-outs sighted the wake of a U-boat just diving. Walker altered course
towards it, increased to full speed and attacked with a pattern of ten
charges. They exploded so accurately that he turned to his First
Lieutenant on the bridge and announced with a triumphant grin: “I shall be
exceedingly surprised if history does not show that chap to have been well
and truly sunk.” He was right but, suppressing a strong desire to linger
and collect evidence, raced back to catch up with the stern of the convoy
and resume his position. At 4.30 a.m. the U-boats struck back. The SS
Thurso, in the middle of the convoy, literally exploded into fragments and
for a moment seemed to disintegrate into a white, blazing ball of fire.
Darkness had time to close in tightly again before the SS City of Oxford
shuddered to a standstill under the impact of an internal explosion caused
when the torpedo pierced her hull and detonated inside a cargo hold. She
sank while the ships following her were altering course round her heavily
listing hulk. The chaos became complete when every ship in the convoy
began firing snowflake illuminant rockets wildly and indiscriminately,
lighting up every column until it became possible for an attacker to take
his time about selecting a target. Walker was raging inwardly, and he
almost danced in consternation when one of the ships astern opened fire
with her machine-guns sending streams of tracers in a wide arc behind her,
nearly hitting Stork’s bridge and moving round to spray the decks of her
neighbouring ship in the next column. The latter, thinking he was under
attack from the air, fired off everything he had at the nearest star. It
was all a bit too much for the escort and, under Walker’s orders, they
steamed at full speed round the convoy just outside the glare of the
snowflakes in the hope of catching a U-boat stalking them on the surface.

When the convoy, now without a commodore
until the vice-commodore could assume control, had decided to stop firing
snowflakes, Walker ordered Convolvulus back to her station ahead and told
off Marigold to continue assisting Cope/and in her search for fresh
survivors. What was left of the night passed quietly. Walker felt deeply
that he might have prevented the second attack if he had left Marigold to
take up her normal position in the screen. “I know that rescue work was
the proper duty for Copeland,” he wrote later, “but I am still uncertain
if I was right or wrong in telling Marigold to help her. For because of
this, Marigold was not in her position on the screen at 4.30 a.m. when the
second attack came from the starboard beam where she would have been. She
would almost certainly have picked up the attackers on her radar. On the
other hand Cope would take a long time to pick up the survivors herself
and would have fallen so far astern of the convoy that it is likely she
would have been sunk.” Crouched in his seat on the bridge, muffled in
scarves and sweaters, he sat silent while the Officer of the Watch handled
the ship. Daylight came and it was 8 a.m. before he sat up, mumbled a few
orders and went below to bathe, shave and eat a frugal breakfast. He
re-appeared on the bridge, refreshed. Marigold was crammed with survivors
and. if she were to become a fighting unit again, they would have to be
transferred to Copeland and his own ship. He sent the necessary signals
and the three ships dropped astern of the convoy while the tiny corvette
transferred 172 survivors. Walker grinned as he called over the loudhailer
asking Marigold how she had stayed afloat. He was told: “It would hardly
appear seemly before our Merchant Navy friends for the rescue ship to be
inhospitable, so we prayed.” Stork had taken aboard her share, and more
were in the process of boarding Copeland, when Marigold sighted a conning
tower six miles from her and ten miles from the convoy. Despite the
indignant protests of the few survivors still waiting to be transferred,
the corvette jumped through the water in pursuit of the enemy. The U-boat,
sighting the corvette leaping over the choppy seas towards her, turned and
ran off showing Marigold a fast-vanishing stern. The corvette
about-turned, rejoined Copeland and sent across her last survivors. In the
evening, Gardenia appeared on the horizon and her signal lamp blinked a
cautious claim: “Consider I finished him off.” At dawn, Walker sent a
signal to the Commander-in-Chief; Western Approaches informing him of the
night’s sinkings and asking for air support from the 15th onwards. A Liberator appeared over the convoy in
the late evening and, shortly afterwards, Stork, then ahead of the convoy,
sighted a conning tower ten miles on the convoy’s starboard bow. The
Liberator was sent off to attack and a few minutes later reported: “Have
attacked U-boat and scored seventeen hits. Enemy has either sunk or
submerged.” Walker assumed the aircraft must have scored “seventeen hits”
with machine gun fire. He could not imagine a U-boat diving if it had been
hit that many times by anything larger. He tried to signal the aircraft
for further information, but the Liberator had turned away and was heading
out of sight. There was every evidence that the “pack” was still with them
when darkness fell. At midnight, a look-out in Stork sighted a U-boat
probing the defences astern. This was in Stork’s territory, so Walker
proceeded to “smarten him up nicely with my eight remaining depth
charges”. The attack was abortive and the sloop resumed her station. About
the same time, Gardenia with her stern damaged and her speed reduced to a
maximum of ten knots joined the screen. The situation was not promising
for the night. The escort was at its full strength of four ships but
Gardenia was damaged; she had no depth charges; her asdic was useless and
she had no speed to chase or attack; Stork had run out of depth charges;
Marigold would expend all her charges in the next attack; only
Convolvulus, the patient shepherd during the absence of the others, was in
a position to fight off enemy probes. Against this, the enemy could see
four escorts and would not know their state of unreadiness. Luckily, the
next attack came from the starboard bow while Convolvulus was in a
position ahead of the starboard column ship. She saw the U-boat racing in,
trimmed down on the surface, and altered course at full speed to
intercept. The startled U-boat about-turned promptly and with his superior
speed was able to lose himself in the night.

After this episode the enemy threw in
his hand and the rest of the night passed peaceably enough, marred only by
a series of false alarms that left everyone weary and numb with strain
when dawn broke on the i6th and brought the prospect of respite. During
the morning a Catalina flying boat arrived as their air escort for the
day. At noon, Walker gave a striking demonstration of his contempt for the
enemy by calling Convolvulus alongside him and, while both ships stopped,
Stork’s motor-boat was lowered and began transferring depth charges from
the corvette to replenish her empty racks. The wind had dropped and the
seas had calmed down. The motor-boat made six trips carrying two depth
charges each time, before Walker decided the convoy had drawn far enough
ahead and, to the audible relief of both crews who expected to be
torpedoed at any moment, had the boat hoisted inboard. Both ships had
rejoined the convoy by the afternoon when a Whitley bomber came out to
assist the Catalina. With these reinforcements, Walker felt he could keep
the U-boats submerged for the rest of the day, and he turned the convoy on
a course that would take them the shortest way home. That night they
waited expectantly for the enemy to attack, but nothing happened and for
the first time in three days they began to hope for a rest. But Doenitz
had not yet finished with HG 84. He had another weapon ready for just such
an emergency. Meanwhile, Stork had broken down with a painful disease
known in naval circles as “condenseritis”, a mechanical complaint which
put one engine out of action until the trouble could be found and cured.
She was reduced to a maximum speed of about nine knots, thereby joining
Gardenia as a mere token escort. It was hardly surprising. For the last
few days and nights the sloop had been flogged mercilessly, performing the
duties of close escort and hunter until she had been driven, in Walker’s
own words, “beyond the endurance of such a gallant thoroughbred”.

Wild Swan - Heroic Action

All day, the engine-room staff worked in
an effort to find the fault while Stork and Gardenia could just keep pace
with the convoy. This was the moment Doenitz chose to launch his next
attack. At 9.30 that evening, the destroyer Wild Swan, steaming some fifty
miles to the eastwards, sighted nine enemy bombers flying towards the
convoy. She signalled a general warning and, being in the path of their
flight, engaged them with her anti-aircraft armament. The action was one
of the fiercest air-sea battles involving a single surface unit ever
fought in the war. The bombers attacked Wild Swan in waves of three. She
was hit badly by the first wave, missed by the second and hit again by the
third. But her vicious, determined fire broke up the formations and the
aircraft returned singly. In the next ten minutes, Wild Swan, sinking by
the stern, shot down six bombers before the remaining three broke off the
action and flew out of sight. Only then did Wild Swan send out the news
that she was sinking rapidly. One old destroyer, veteran of the first
world war, had broken up Doenitz’s last attack on HG 84.
(Wild Swan’s
captain, Commander C. E. Slater, RN, survived the fury of this battle to
receive the Distinguished Service Order).

The next two days, the convoy struggled
northwards with fifty per cent of the escort limping in its wake but, on
the afternoon of the 19th Stork’s engineer officer reported to the bridge
that the patient had been cured. Walker increased speed on both engines
and the little ship surged forward. They were just in time to greet an
enemy aircraft which put in an appearance at the unprecedented time of
10.30 pm, an hour at which all good Focke-Wulfs should be asleep.
Delightedly, the guns crews went into action to enjoy a practice shoot
they had not been able for months to wheedle from the authorities. In what
must have been a deadly reminder of his danger, the enemy pilot sheered
away and scurried home with tiny puffs of black smoke threatening to burn
his tail. This was the last skirmish. The following day the convoy
dispersed off the Clyde and Walker led his battered, tired little Group
home to Liverpool. Statistically, Convoy HG 84 was not particularly
successful. On the balance sheet were five valuable
merchant ships and a Hurricane fighter lost for two probable “kills”—for
while Walker claimed Gardenia’s and his own attack the following night as
two U-boats destroyed, they had not yet been confirmed. When the Reports
of Proceedings of the Group had been handed in at Liverpool, Walker fully
expected to be called to account for his offensive tactics with such a
small force. He was ready to acknowledge that the “safe and timely
arrival” of the convoy had at times hung by a thread, due to an entirely
inadequate escort screen which on at least one occasion had consisted of
only one ship, the corvette Convolvulus. He knew there were higher
authorities who disapproved of his tactics and might use the debit balance
sheet to relieve him of his command. In his own Report, he had awarded
credit and accepted blame for any mistakes someone, probably less
experienced in the U-boat war, might consider he had made. Privately, he
was proud of his Group and satisfied at their performance. If nothing
else, the 3 Escort Group had proved itself a team, thoroughly disciplined
to his methods. “I am proud,” he said, “of the offensive
spirit, initiative and sheer guts displayed by these corvettes.
Convolvulus, my deputy during my absences from the convoy, never put a
foot wrong. Gardenia displayed great tenacity despite her damage by
remaining sixteen hours to witness the death of her U-boat. Marigold did
some fine rescue work and lunged hard against shadowing U-boats when they
came near to attacking Copeland who was carrying out her work of mercy. As
for Stork, it is inspiring to command such a magnificent body of men, on
their toes spoiling for a fight. I adopted an offensive policy in the
belief that the best defence is to go out for kills.” He had nothing to
fear. Neither the Commander-in-Chief nor the Director of Anti-Submarine
Warfare assessed Battle Reports by the state of the balance sheet. They
related Walker’s actions to the weight of the enemy attack and the result
was gratifying even to the most pessimistic. A deliberately planned
massacre of Convoy HG 84 had been averted. Instead of the almost total
destruction hoped for by the enemy, the convoy had got through with only a
twenty-two per cent loss. Messages of congratulations were sent to Stork,
but Walker shrugged them off. Far more important was the decisive fact
that his unorthodox methods had stood up to vigorous analysis. He was
impatient for the Group to carry out repairs. As soon as Stork could lead
four of them to sea again, he would report ready for duty. However, Sir
Percy Noble had other plans for Commander Walker.